


Gain Your Freedom

by Synekdokee



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Happy Ending, M/M, fairytale AU, misleading title is misleading
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-16
Updated: 2013-05-16
Packaged: 2017-12-12 00:49:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/805206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Synekdokee/pseuds/Synekdokee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Why are you so concerned,” the king asked, voice strained. “You are here against your will. You were gifted to me against your consent. When I die, you shall gain your freedom.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gain Your Freedom

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ikeracity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ikeracity/gifts).



> For ikeracity, who keeps cheerleading me to write this sillyness.
> 
> I was re-reading the Sandman graphic novels and the scene where Dream is gifted a fairy servant by Queen Titania, and is unable to reject the "gift" for fear of angering the fairy queen made me have Cherik plotbunnies. This isn't a Sandman AU, just borrows from the idea of rulers and their realms.

The battle had ended and the palace echoed with silence. The enemies had been struck down by the Iron King’s powers, and those who had remained true were still scattered across the king’s realm, defending their posts. 

Charles knelt, wounded and drained over the bleeding king’s body, feeding the remnants of his fae-magic into the gaping wound in the king’s side. The king shifted and more blood flowed out, a crimson pool spreading on the white marble. Charles gave out a soft cry.

“Don’t die, my lord, I beg you,” he pleaded, frantically pouring his energy into the bloody gash. The king watched him with his pale grey eyes, his gaze still sharp despite the pallor on his face. He drew a shuddering breath, wincing from pain. 

“Why are you so concerned,” the king asked, voice strained. “You are here against your will. You were gifted to me against your consent. When I die, you shall gain your freedom.” 

Despite his distress, Charles’ lips curled into a small, secretive smile. “I have my reasons.”

“Tell me,” the king prompted. “If I am to die, surely I deserve honesty.” He moaned thickly when Charles pushed his fingers inside the cut, directing his weakening magic into the flesh.

“I wish you to live for I love you, my king.” Charles kept his eyes on his hands, aware of the blush staining his cheeks. 

The king was silent, so still that Charles thought his magic had failed. But when he looked at the king the man met his gaze steadily, pale lips parted in surprise. 

“How can you love me, fairy?” The king touched Charles’ wrist weakly. “How can you love a man who has given you none of his attention or nonexistent hospitality, and very little of his kindness?”

Charles smiled and touched the king’s cheek with one hand, clean of blood despite being soaked in it moments before. The skin beneath his touch flushed lightly with life.

“You gave me a home, and freedom to roam your realm when returning to the Faerie would have brought the wrath of my Queen upon me.” He brushed an errant strand of hair from the king’s brow, the tips of his fingers chasing away the sickly paleness there.

“It is true that you have rarely acknowledged me, but you have always shown me civility and kindness as your servant. I have watched you rule your kingdom with wisdom and courage, and I have hopelessly lost my heart to you.”

The king closed his eyes and turned his face away from Charles as though in shame.

“Your heart is too pure for me to claim any right to it.”

“Yet its mind is made,” Charles said softly, eyes sad and bright with unshed tears. “So please, my brave king, do not die in my hands for my poor heart would surely break.” He leaned down and brushed a kiss against the king’s chilled cheek. 

“I do not ask you to respond in kind for I know you have barely noticed I exist.” He swallowed around the lump in his throat. “Outside Faerie I am nothing but another servant of the Iron King. But I beg of you, don’t give up now, your realm needs you.”

The king turned to look at him then, his face agonised, not from the pain in his wound but from the one in his heart.

“I have noticed you, my fair prince,” said the king, voice quiet but determined. “You have the bluest eyes I have ever seen, and many a time have they haunted my dreams, like all men are plagued by their unattainable desires.” He breathed once, laboriously.

“But you are wrong – I am not brave. I am a coward, and a fool, and I have treated you unfairly because of my own failings.” His eyes were as grey and stormy as the sea, even though Charles could feel how little life remained in the king’s body.

Charles kept to his healing task, fearful of his magic draining fully. The flow of blood had slowed, but the cut refused to heal, or did so too slowly for Charles to see. The king’s breathing was shallow.

“You are the most beautiful creature I have seen during my journeys,” the king said, eyes fixed on Charles. He let go of the bloody sword he had been clutching and cupped Charles’ cheek gently in his palm, staining it rust-red.

“If the last thing I see before I die is to be your face, it shall be a happy, honourable death indeed.”

Charles felt his heart swell with delight and sorrow, felt his magic course stronger and more determined, as though it had a mind of its own. And perhaps it did, for a fairy heart is a mysterious thing, and those who find themselves in possession of one should treat it with care.

Charles leaned down and kissed the king’s lips gently, and for a fleeting moment the king found it easier to breathe. 

“Then stay with me, my lord,” Charles whispered, “and you can delight in my eyes as often as you wish until you tire of them.”

The king smiled then, a rare thing indeed, and stroked Charles’ cheek with a blood-stained thumb, marking him as his own, even as his sword –sliced flesh began to knit itself closed.

 

They were discovered later by palace staff and guards, by the faithful ones and the brave. The king sat on the cold marble floor in his tattered and bloody robes, cradling the sleeping form of the fairy prince.


End file.
